


Gracie 'n Harry

by lizwritesthings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Harry, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Liam is there too, Niall Is A Good Bro, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Swear Words, but not a famous one, harry is still a singer, i would also tag the other boys as characters but i don't wanna spam the tags, louis is his sassy self, oh well, plus talking about anxiety, this is a mess don't @ me, this is mostly fluff but there's also a bit of angst cause?? of course???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwritesthings/pseuds/lizwritesthings
Summary: "Yeah, that guy who's living next door apparently is a singer cause he's driving me insane jamming at 3 am and turning up on my doorstep when he's drunk and apparently he's also really cute and I guess I kinda am in love with him?"Or: Gracie has about 100 problems right now and somehow, Harry Styles manages to be 99 of them.





	Gracie 'n Harry

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in november for my best friend's birthday (love ya) and then yesterday I was like hell yeah I should post this on here cause this is the PERFECT way to introduce yourself to ao3! Haha. This is a mess. 
> 
> p.s. english is not my first language so bare with me, thanks. hope you enjoy nonetheless.

❄ ❄ ❄

 

It starts like this: it's a Friday night and Gracie is done with life, so to say. Her phone has been buzzing for two hours straight, with incoming messages from basically all her uni friends begging her to go out _for fucking once, grace, come on and have fun for the first time in your life, will ya?_ She ignored them and since then, her phone has been buzzing on her bed, muffled by three gigantic pillows. She has no time for fun tonight.

Because see, the thing with Gracie is that she's _responsible_. Always has been. In kindergarten, she was the one who made sure that all the dolls had their afternoon nap and got to eat regularly. Being in university now, not much has changed apart from the fact that now she makes sure all her friends hand in their projects when they are due and that her work is always on point. And if that means staying in on a Friday night to finish that essay so she can spend the whole Sunday doing absolutely nothing besides laying in bed and watching fresh prince, then so be it.

Gracie has all that she needs. Her apartment is small, but cozy, and pretty cheap considering it's an only ten minute walk by foot to get to the center of London. She loves going to university and spending the days listening to her profs ramble about camera perspectives and learning which kind of set up is best to convey which emotion in film and going to the café down the street to drink overpriced coffee with Kate and dream about the future. Her hands may always be cold and her wallet always empty and sometimes she misses her family and the save simplicity of her hometown Cottingham, Market Harborough in the middle of the nothing's of England, but hey, you can't always have everything, can you? So, yes. Life is good.

Apart from now because it's _literally_ 2 am and she only needs to write the conclusion to this freaking essay but the words are not coming, no matter what she tries. She's on her third gallon of ice cream and her eleventh cup of coffee and her eyes are itching. That's when she hears the knock on the door.

At first she doesn't really notice, because who the fuck would knock on her door in the middle of the night, but then it knocks again and again and then it becomes a rhythm, knock _knock_ , knock _knock_ , knock _knock_ , and she closes her eyes slowly and rubs her temples to make the sound go away. It doesn't. Her bones crack as she stands up and makes her way to the door, growing more and more furious with every step and every knock.

"What the _fuck_ -", is the only thing she can manage while tearing the door open before a whirlwind of long limbs and colourful patterns interrupts her. The whirlwind, that now stumbles into her living room and leaves dirty footprints on the carpet, turns out to be a rather tall boy, probably around the same age as her, with brown, tousled hair that's curling up all around his head like a halo. His black jeans are so tight that they look like they are painted on his long legs and he's wearing a ridiculously bright orange shirt with little ... flamingos on it? Everything about him screams _loud_ and that's exactly what he is, too.

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon", he hollers and stomps his feet to the rhythm. "Who is already sick and pale with grief! That thou, her maid, are far more fair than she!" He then seems to notice her presence, which is not ideal, but it's something to begin with, at least. Extending his hand (his fingers are long and delicate), he says "Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2, Line 4. Hi."

Gracie is, as one might call it, shocked. For one second, she is almost frightened too, because this guy may be crazy and she's too young to be killed by a psychopath, but then she's really more furious than anything. Yeah no, definitely furious.

"Excuse me", she manages between clenched teeth, "but _who the fuck_ are you and why are you in my apartment?"

"I'm Romeo, my dearest lady", he answers and then looks around curiously. "This is your apartment? Hm. Yeah. Doesn't look like mine. Why am I here again?"

Gracie takes two deep breaths. She decides that behaving like an adult is probably gonna be more helpful in this situation, so she says: "I have no idea why you are here, but considering it's 2 am and you just came in reciting Romeo and Juliet, I suppose you're drunk so could you please just fucking leave."

The boy looks at her with an admiring look on his face before his lips split into a wide, shit-eating grin. "Ohhhhhh potty mouth, I see."

Gracie is 110% done at this point and very, very close to snapping at this boy, but again, adult is the way to go here. "Anyways. I suggest you leave now."

He pouts. "But I don't know where I live."

"Not my problem." He pouts even harder, eyes glassy and round, and she sighs again. "Do you remember your apartment number?"

"4A", he grins, dimples showing, definitely intoxicated and- oh. Yeah. That makes sense- Gracie never made a real attempt to get to know the neighbours since her intimidating encounter with Mr. Simmons from 2B who scoffed at her to _stay the fuck quiet or else I will call the police, I swear to my dead dog_ the day she moved in one and a half years ago. After that, she made sure to be extra quiet and respectful to Mr. Simmons and also to never try to meet any other inhabitants of her apartment complex. (In case they were even worse. And maybe because meeting new people was not exactly the number one thing on the list of things Gracie liked to do.) Even when the singing started in the apartment next to her, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the middle of the night, though always accompanied by rhythmic chords on an acoustic guitar, she didn't do anything to make it stop. After all, his voice was quiet nice. "So you're Bowie Boy, then?", she says before she can hold it back.

"Bowie Boy?", the boy scrunches his nose, but then his entire face lightens up immediately. "Wait, this is a compliment, right? I feel like this is a compliment. If it's not meant to be a compliment, don't tell me. I don't know why anyone would feel insulted by that."

She pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers. Her head still hurts. "Yeah, you live next door. Your cover of Moonage Daydream was stuck in my head for two days." She gestures to the door, and because she's actually a nice person, she adds "Come on. We'll get you home."

Home is, really, about two steps away and the guy lets her guide him to his own door willingly, not once breaking the smile. She starts to suspect that he is not only drunk, but also very high. Singers. Before following him inside the door that he opened with the key under the doormat, she sneaks a glance at his doorbell plate, because she will definitely not call him 'Romeo'. Harry Styles it is, instead, and she huffs out a laugh. Of course he's a singer, with that name.

His apartment fits his occupation, too. There are multiple half full cups on the table, the couch is coated in dirty clothes and in the kitchen there are literal piles of plates. She observes the guitars that are hanging on his wall and then turns to Harry: "So, you can make a living out of singing?"

He shrugs. "I did a few gigs in the pub downtown, a few weddings, one time even a funeral. It's not much, but I can pay rent and didn't have to starve yet, so." Then his face gets pale, and he pulls a grimace. "Excuse me for a second, please."

He disappears into what must be the bathroom, so she sits down on one of two mismatched chairs at the kitchen table and listens to him puke. As far as Friday nights go, she had worse.

And now she knows the face that belongs to the voice that kept her up the last months, strumming on a guitar and singing 80s rock songs at 3 am whenever she had an exam the next day.

When Harry finally emerges from the bathroom, he doesn't smile anymore and instead lets himself fall on the chair opposite to her. His small curls have lost all their electricity and instead just look very, very sad. "You should drink some water", she suggests and receives only a deep groan, so she decides to take the matter into her own hands. And while she's at it, she also decides to make cheese toast, because his stomach is probably empty now and she feels herself getting hungry.

By the time the toast's ready, she has also washed most of the plates, listened to Harry slowly rambling about pineapples (more specifically, their name), and found an used condom in the corner, to which Harry only responded "Oh, yeah. She was nice. Or he. Don't know anymore." without opening his eyes. Singers. After that, she is deliberately avoiding that corner.

"I hope you know that you don't have single matching cutlery and that the only reasonable explanation for that is that you have stolen them", she remarks and sets down the plate in front of him.

He grins widely but also tiredly, slumped over the kitchen chair looking ready to pass out right here and there, and says: "I mean, I'm not going to deny that.", and she scoffs "artists" and goes back to eating her toast.

Five minutes later, he is fast asleep on that chair and she scoffs again, "boys" this time, and leads him to his bedroom, or at least what she supposes is his bedroom, because there is a mattress lying on the floor and the walls are covered in posters. The one that's hung up directly over his writing table, where a few pencils and notebooks are lined up neatly, shows an advertisement for the Rolling Stones show in London, June 1982. The books on his bookshelf are wildly mixed, as far as she can see it on the first glance; it's mostly poetry, with some classics here and there, the obvious books that he probably had to read in school and some that she never heard a word of. When Gracie looks back at where he lays on his bed, one leg still on the floor and his hair now looking tired and weirdly flat on his forehead, she can't help but feel a pang of curiosity in her chest; paired with a sense of responsibility, even though he is annoying and robbed her of at least two hours sleep and his opinion about pineapples couldn't be more wrong.

She makes her way over to his bed, her steps as quiet as possible, then tucks him in and says: "Don't think I'll do that again for you, this is just because I'm a decent human being and I don't wanna lose my karma points. And don't you dare wander around anymore, you're going to sleep now."

His answer comes out late and mumbled and he's probably at least half asleep already. "5 karma points to you. Maybe 7, because the cheese toast was great." When she's almost out of the door, Harry murmurs again, so quietly that maybe she understood it wrong: "Don't worry, the only doorstep 'm going to turn up on now is yours."

Later, she's lying in her own bed and it's 4:38 am and she has to get up in one hour and she can't stop thinking about how his last sentence made her feel warm inside.

 

❄ ❄ ❄

 

As it turns out, that was not the last she saw of Harry Styles, not that she'd ever thought so.

After this night, Harry starts turning up on her doorstep randomly, and not even drunk at all times, sometimes only to bring her the newspaper or to pay her back for her help in apple crumble (it's delicious and she almost feels a bit bad) or to ramble about something weird while trying to catch grapes in his mouth in her living room (she finds some two weeks later and it's disgusting). And even if she doesn't see him all the time, she can definitely hear him, strumming melodies on his guitar, singing Fleetwood Mac in the middle of the night, sometimes accompanied by the muffled laughter and shrieks of another girl or boy. It's not that bad though, because now she can bang on the wall that separates their rooms and threaten to call the police and he knows she's not serious but shuts up anyways just in case she is.

Gracie spends most of the time studying, handing in projects on time and making sure Kate gets her daily dose of coffee every morning. She watches the first three seasons of BBC's Sherlock in one day, finds a great new recipe for banana cake and her sisters back in Cottingham send daily reports of how her cats are doing. Life goes on.

But that one afternoon is different. Basically, Gracie is _stressed_. There are not many things that usually go wrong in her life, but when they do, they happen all at once.

The rain is pounding against the windows. Harry is over at hers again, because apparently he hasn't got a better place to be, which would seriously frighten her if she could bring herself to care about that right now. He is sitting on her kitchen counter, his ridiculously big feet dangling against it, and stuffs his face full with some bland crackers he found in one of her cupboards. It's been three weeks and 7 visits (not like she is counting) and still, he hasn't gotten less loud than he was on their first encounter. She can hear him chewing all the way across the room where she's sitting hunched over some notes; her next exam is in only two days and she is frighteningly late on catching up with the topics.

"We should go to a theme park", Harry says through cracker crumbs. "Do you know which ones are good? I went to Disneyland last year, but it was kinda boring. Which theme park would you like to go to?"

"Don't know", she answers absently, trying to memorize the lines before her. _Diegetic sounds are commonly used when..._ Shit, no. _There are two kinds of-_ Her phone makes an annoying ring sound. A reminder that her project about sequences is due next Monday. She groans. Still no new messages from her mother.

Harry keeps talking. "You know, Mitch told me about that one park with a real big ride, so basically it is two rides but they are kinda combined, and when you leave the one-"

"Harry", she interrupts him and her voice apparently sounds cold enough to shut him up immediately. "I'm really not in the mood right now, so could you please just be quiet? For once?"

The expression on his face turns concerned as he's sliding down the counter. Brows furrowed, he takes a few steps in her direction. "Is everything okay?"

Gracie rubs her temples again until her vision is swimming. "No, it's not, and-"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to fucking talk about it", she snaps at him and then proceeds to talk about it. "But if you so desperately want to know, I have this exam in two days and I literally know nothing, I have about a dozen essays and projects due next week, I am out of ice cream and I haven't showered in four days and on top of it all, my mum is sick and I feel bad that I am not home and she still hasn't fucking texted me back and it's getting colder and darker outside every day and it is not putting me in a very good mood, as you might have noticed!" She had gotten louder and louder during her outburst, almost to the point of yelling, so she puts a finger on her nose now and tries to take deep breaths to at least make her heart stop pounding so fast. She has no time for a panic attack right now. Harry is still not saying anything, so she adds: "And you are really not helping with any of this, so could you please leave now?", and then looks up again.

The boy in front of her looks like he's about to cry. His hands are loosely hanging on his sides, and he seems as lost as she feels right now. Before Gracie can start to feel bad about making him tear up, Harry murmurs "Oh. Okay." and she hears the door shutting behind him.

"Fuck", she sighs and falls back on her chair. Now she had managed to scare off the only person in this house that didn't want to kill her. Yet. Life was going so well.

She decides to stop the poor attempt to learn and throws herself on the couch, face down. Only seconds after breathing in the thick and old scent of the cushions that the previous owner left behind, her tears are coming. The thing about all this was that it wasn't even the first time it had happened. Sometimes, home just felt even more far away than it really was and sometimes, things got too much, even though she loved what she was doing most of the time and she loved her friends and family. Sometimes ... sometimes a shitty day was just a shitty day and there wasn't anything one could do about it.

Gracie allows herself self-pity and some more tears, until all that is left were stains on her cheeks. She eats the rest of the crackers that Harry left behind and they don't even taste like tears that much. Her heartbeat returns to normal. Her mum texts, saying she feels a bit better. Then, there is a knock on the door.

Even though Gracie now has some more experience with knocks on doors, she winces nonetheless. Her back makes a funny noise when she gets up from the floor where she leaned against the counter. She rubs at her twitching eye and stands on her tiptoes so she can peek through the peephole. It's Harry.

Of course it is. She sighs. "I can here you breathing", he says from the other side of the door. "Please open the door."

When she does, he smiles softly. His hair is even more ruffled and he's holding up a bag. "I brought you ice cream. Raspberry and cookies. And, uh- and a blanket, in case-"

"How do you know that's my favourite ice cream?", she gasps, completely forgetting all the apologies she prepared in her mind.

He seems surprised. "You, uhm, you said that one time, so I thou-", before he can finish his sentence, she has already attacked him with a hug, slung her arms around him and squeezed her face into his neck. "Thank you", she mumbles, her voice stifled by the fabric of his jacket. He smells like leather, cookies, and something very, very sweet. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Harry laughs, only a bit awkwardly, and pats her shoulder with his free hand. "Just because I brought you ice cream?"

She takes a step back and rubs her eyes again, in case a tear might slip out. "No. Because you came back."

His expression is startled, as if he didn't expect that kind of answer, then he grins widely. "And because of the ice cream, be honest."

"Hm, yeah, maybe." Gracie grabs the bag and then hesitates. Harry raises his eyebrows.

"I want to apologise", she finally says, after twenty long seconds of silence. "I was very rude and it was not okay to snap at you like that. I'm sorry for that, it won't happen again."

He stares at her for a moment, his face open and lips parted, then he nods seriously. "It's okay. You are stressed, I understand."

She nods, too, and for a while they just stare at each other until Gracie feels shivers running down her spine and remembers that they are still standing in the doorway. "Ice cream now?", she asks and earns a relieved look. "Thank god, yes. Hey, don't you have the Fresh Prince of Bel Air on DVD?" She does.

When he asks her again later if she wants to talk about it now, she thinks for a minute and then says: "You know, I think you might have made it a bit better already." Harry hugs her and she buries her head into his chest and is pretty sure about it. They watch the entire first two seasons of fresh prince until she falls asleep in his blanket.

 

❄❄❄

 

The weeks pass. Her grade on _that_ exam is not as high as she would like it to be, but he scoffs and tells her it doesn't matter, and maybe she can bring herself to believe him for once. She keeps watering her plants, and he keeps playing his guitar and bringing home giggling people. She keeps drinking coffee, and he keeps preaching about tea in front of her, although she banned him from doing that. She makes fun of his many, many ugly shirts and he is not one bit hurt, but laughs instead and mocks her back. She likes him very, very much for that. By week five, he has taught her how to make proper pancakes. By week six, she knows all the posters in his room. By week seven, he has set her kitchen on fire for the first time. Gracie is actually kind of surprised it took him that long.

It is week eight now and she is currently helping him set up the christmas lights that he bought earlier in his room. "You know", Harry begins, words coming out unclear because of the pushpins in his mouth, "I think I know what I'm gonna get you for Christmas." He stretches a bit further to secure the lights in the upper left corner of his wall. His sweater rides up his stomach and exposes a small streak of skin. Gracie feels her throat closing, for whatever reason.

"Yeah?", she manages and then shakes her head violently. She is thinking nonsense again.

"Yeah", Harry answers and finally gets down from his mattress. "I saw something the other day and totally thought of you."

Gracie feels a smile spreading on her face, though she tries her best to stay seriously and raise her eyebrows. "I don't think you're supposed to tell people about their christmas presents before though."

He frowns. "No? Well. I don't care. You're gonna get a bombass present, anyways."

"There are two months left until Christmas, Harry."

"49 days, not two months. Step up your game, Graceful." She just rolls her eyes and doesn't even bother to comment on the nickname. Lately, Harry has made it a challenge to find the most ridiculous nicknames for her. To be honest, she was kind of surprised of his creativity, but then again, being creative was kind of part of his job.

Harry grins and then motions for her to come over to where he's lying on his mattress. She hops from his writing desk and accepts gratefully, because, well, she is cold and he is always warm.

While he's apparently lost in thought, Gracie catches herself thinking about the last two months. It was kind of funny how she went from hearing his voice through her wall to knowing the exact colour of his eyes and the way it changes when he laughs. Life was weird, sometimes.

"You know what", she suddenly says. "I just noticed, I have never actually seen you sing or play the guitar."

It takes him a bit longer than usual to answer, and even then, it's only: "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Gracie raises her head so she can look at him properly. "You wanna play me something?"

Harry still seems lost in thought. The crinkles around his eyes disappear, and he licks his lips once. The faint shine of the christmas lights illuminates his face, and makes his skin look soft, and very, very pretty. His eyes almost seem grey, no trace left of the energetic green. "I will, later", he says eventually and doesn't look very serious, or like he even understood what she said at all.

Gracie doesn't ask again, and figures it's best to just let Harry be for a while, though seeing him like this makes her stomach turn a little. He looks sad; and Gracie doesn't want him to have to feel sad ever.

 

❄❄❄

 

Bananas, flour, detergent. She looks up from her shopping list and tries to remember where the flour could be in this damn supermarket. Gracie hates supermarkets, and for a reason. They are always big and cold and she can never keep in mind where the things that she needs are.

Today, it is even worse. Her day was long, with draining lectures and the rain steadily drumming against the windowless rooms. Around midday break, her hands started to tremble. She feels a weird kind of unreal, as if time has stopped existing for a while, and it hasn't gotten better. The light in the supermarket is cold and exposing, and she thinks about how it could be evening or morning or the middle of the night. She wouldn't notice.

The vegetables look strange and naked under the shine. The skin of the eggplants appears to glow furiously. Gracie turns her back to the vegetable section and tries to ignore her throbbing headache. She feels a kind of dizziness.

Bananas, flour, detergent. When she passes the cheese, something catches in her throat and she has to cough loudly. A woman a few feet away turns around to look at her and Gracie hides her red face in her coat. As soon as she can breathe again, she hurries on, desperately trying to escape the woman's glances. The red lettering on the walls screaming SALE is irritating her eyes and suddenly, a cold sweat breaks out on her forehead.

Her breath comes out quivering. She grips the handle of the shopping trolley tightly, until her knuckles whiten. Ghost-like. Pale. They are still trembling. Is she even real? The people are looking. Their stares burn into her neck like lasers. They probably think she's crazy. Is she? Is she crazy? Gracie tries to breathe again and then she realizes that she can't. She can't- she can't move. She-

Everyone is looking at her, she knows without having to turn around, not like she _can_ right now, her feet are glued to the floor, a claw is gripping at her chest and won't let go, everything feel tight and uncomfortable and she can't fucking move.

At the exact moment when tears start swelling in her eyes, she hears his voice.

"Gracie! Grace!" Harry doesn't seem to notice the state she's in, until- "Heeeyyy favourite neighbooo- oh. What's wrong?" She manages to raise her eyes. He's directly in front of her now, stuffed into a big coat, jeans as tight as always, curls stuffed under a beanie. His face looks insanely worried as he leans down a bit to catch her glance. "Hey. Are you okay?"

She wants to say Yes, she wants to say _I'm fine_ , she wants to say _It's nothing_. But when she opens her mouth, the only thing that comes out is a whisper, and the only words that come out are, even if she tries to say anything else, just anything: "Get me out of here." Harry's face turns serious. She's afraid that if his brows furrow even more, they might touch in the middle.

"Okay." He sets his basket (apples and toilet paper) on the ground and his hands reach towards hers in a calming movement. Next, he suddenly freezes, as if he just remembered something, and looks up.

Their eyes lock, and his features immediately soften. "Can I touch you?" She just nods and Harry nods back, before he starts to slowly, softly, uncurl her fingers from the trolley. When she's able to relax them a little, her whole body seems to huff out the tension she didn't know she had in her. Her muscles now feel slack and helpless, and she stumbles a little. Harry puts his arm around her to hold her up, only after another "Can I?" and a nod from her, and starts guiding her through the aisles towards the exit, leaving the shopping basket forgotten on the ground. His mouth is close to her ear, and: "I'm here. It's going to be okay. I'm here, nothing is going to happen to you", she can hear him mumble over and over again.

While they pass the cashier at the exit, she looks down quickly; Harry seems to notice and hunches over a bit so her face is hidden. To a stranger, they probably just look like an affectionate couple, she thinks, and doesn't even bother to think about why she isn't put off by it.

Finally outside, Harry leads her to a little bench a few steps away and makes her sit down. The metal is cold, and she shivers.

"Oh. Wait." He removes his beanie and pulls it over her head before she can protest. Then, he kneels down in front of her and takes her hands into his again. "You're safe. Everything is going to be okay. I'm here."

"Thank you", she whispers, her voice coming out hoarse and small.

Harry shakes his head. "You're welcome. Can you tell me what I can do to make it better?"

Gracie takes a deep breath. It is still a bit uneasy, but far better in the clear air. It feels crisp and cool in her lungs. "I think I only want to go home right now."

"That I can do", he nods and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, reassuring and warm.

The way back home is not as hard as she thought it would be; they have to take the underground, because neither Harry nor she came with the car. The thought about being in public had scared her to death only five minutes ago, but it goes surprisingly well. Harry holds her hand all the way to their apartment complex, and randomly rubs his thumb over the thin skin on the back of her hand. She tells herself that noone is looking at them, and keeps on breathing.

Harry opens the door to her apartment with the key she hands him, and sits her down on the couch. The fabric feels familiar and reassuring under her fingers and she feels warm, completely warm again. The last bit of tension falls off of her and when she finally bursts into tears, relieved and tired, he sits down next to her, arms still slung around her torso. His right hand is gently petting her head, and Gracie just sighs between two sobs, her legs tangled up with Harry's. It doesn't- it doesn't feel weird and she cries a bit more.

"Better now?", he asks after a long while, when she has stopped shaking and she nods. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She turns her head to look at him. His smile is crooked, but soft, green eyes tracing her face carefully. They shine under the low light and she realizes she must look terrible, tear stains and all. Gracie hems. "I- I think I just wanna lay here and watch Friends and nothing else."

Harry nods slowly. "I have every season on DVD, I'll bring them for you. Should I-", he hesitates and swallows visibly. She watches his muscles around his throat work and feels hers tighten once again, but this time in a different way. "Ehm, should I ... bring myself, too?"

"Yes, please", Gracie whispers, because she absolutely doesn't want to be alone right now. It's okay though when his smile gets even softer- and even wider. He salutes in an over-exaggerating move and she actually can't hold back a little laugh. Harry looks very accomplished.

As he promised, he brings the entire Friends show, as much food as he can carry (or, as much as his refrigerator can offer), and most importantly, himself.

Gracie is still tired and weary and feels like she run a 5 km marathon, but it's not something new to her and it's better than usually, because now Harry is here and he lets her cuddle up to him and lets her win when they argue about Ross and Rachel. ("They were on a BREAK", Gracie says, and Harry objects: "A break does not mean he can do what he WANTS", and then groans and throws up his hands.)

She gets quieter a few episodes later, until Harry eventually turns off the TV and they just lay in silence. The flickering light of the standard lamp makes it feel like they are laying in front of a fire, and Gracie lays her head on Harry's shoulder. He's warm enough to be a fire, actually, and she starts to feel dizzy again, but the good kind. The kind where you feel drunk because you are so tired.

"Thank you", she mumbles again, and only feels his head shaking. "You're welcome."

"No, really." She clears her throat. "You ... you kind of rescued me today. That was very kind of you. You- you know, not everyone would have done this."

"You're my neighbour", he interjects. "It was basically my duty." She shoves him lightly, and he giggles. "No, really. You're welcome. Any time, actually. I'm just- I was wondering..." He's the one beating about the bush now, seeming unsure and a bit embarrassed. "I am wondering if ... I mean, I- was that okay for you? What I did?"

When she looks at him questioningly, he tries again: "I haven't really dealt with a panic attack- I mean that was a panic attack, right? If I'm allowed to ask. I haven't really dealt with that for a long time. I'm wondering if I could have done anything better? I read that article on buzzfeed once, and it said that you should always-"

"You did great", Gracie interrupts so he doesn't have to keep talking. "You did ... the perfect thing, I suppose. Asking for consent. That's. That was good." She looks up at him. "Panic attacks- I don't know. Maybe anxiety attacks, I don't know what to call them. I just, sometimes I get worked up and I can't be in public and I feel like everyone's staring at me and- it simply gets too much at once." She swallows to get rid of the lump in her throat, when she realizes that this is the first time she used the words anxiety attack. Harry's eyes are big, and shine, and look into hers. "Thank you, Harry. That was almost the nicest thing someone has ever done for me. You- you're incredible."

Gracie averts her eyes, because if she looks at him two seconds longer, she might start crying again. She can feel him breathing soundly.

"My sister used to have this. Well, not this- she has asthma, you know? It was pretty bad. I mean, it's no anxiety, but ... she used to have these asthma attacks, when she couldn't breathe. We did a ... a thing, like a course, on what to do in case she has one, the whole family together. I can only remember one time, when we ... we had a small trampoline in the garden, and we were on it together, and suddenly she was gasping, and I- I pressed her finger to my wrist, so her pulse could calm down again while I screamed for our mum." He huffs out a laugh, a bit distant maybe: "I remember I was so scared, I almost shit my pants."

"It's a good idea", Gracie says, to encourage him. "The pulse thing. Just remember to ask for consent first, and try to stay calm yourself. In general, I mean. Not for me. That would be crazy. I mean..." She lets the sentence trail out.

Harry presses his finger to her wrist, then he giggles: "I can feel your pulse now. We match." His grip is soft, but his eyes grin in that mischievous way, as if he just found the greatest joke in her heartbeat.

She rolls her eyes, and shakes his hand of laughingly. Her pulse is definitely too high. "Tell me more about your family", she demands instead. "I can't believe you never actually did."

Harry pulls his thinking face. "Hm. Well, I have one sister. Gemma. She's the best. I mean, she always insults me, and makes me take out the rubbish when I'm home even after she moved out herself, and one time she cut my hair when I was asleep, but she's amazing. I love her so much. My mum, too. You'd like her. She's the most beautiful woman I know, and the strongest. Her ... she had to go through some stuff this year, but she still wakes up every day and smiles. It's- I really admire her for that. She taught me a lot, well, like mothers do, I guess. And sometimes she bakes too many cookies at once by accident and then she sends me 300 per late night express so they aren't hard already when they arrive. The boys are always delighted. It's really time you meet them. The boys, I mean. My family, too."

"Yeah?", is the only thing Gracie can bring out, because she may be a bit speechless and the tips of her fingers are tingling pleasantly.

"You're my friend, of course", he says, sounding almost insulted.

She laughs quietly. "You're my friend too, Harry." And what a friend he is. What a friend.

Later, when Gracie has almost fallen asleep, Harry jokingly asks: "Hey, how many karma points do I get now? Because I basically rescued you", and she throws a pillow at him, but then gets serious and whispers: "All of them. You get all the karma points", and he looks at her with a look on his face that she can't tell.

 

❄❄❄

 

The next thing Gracie knows is that she wakes up in her own bed. It's still dark, but not dark enough for it to be the middle of the night, so she blinks a few times and then raises herself off of the bed. She realizes that it's dark because the blinds in her room are shut. When she opens them, she is greeted by a cloudy sky and a lot of fog down in the streets. A glance on the clock tells her that it's 11 am and- fuck. It is 11 am already. It's a Friday. She has to go to uni.

In the kitchen, she is greeted by a properly dressed and at least half awake Harry, two qualities that she cannot offer right now. She feels a bit insulted that he looks this good in a plain pullover and sweatpants, that hug his thighs in a way that just looks comfortable. (His hair is tousled again, but let down as if he's curls aren't awake yet. He looks endearing and her stomach warms up immediately.) In his hands, he holds her only pan, and when he notices her, he gestures for her to sit down before loading a bunch of pancakes on the plate in front of her.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"I want you to know that you are a good person. A very good person indeed. You are very caring and have a big heart and- the world doesn't deserve you. And I'm not saying this because of the pancakes." She looks down on the perfectly crafted breakfast and then reconsiders. "Maybe a bit. But the rest is absolutely you."

Harry's face automatically lights up, and his dimpled grin makes a return. "Pancakes are the only thing I can really do. And scrambled eggs. I would also like to point out that I didn't set your kitchen on fire", he points out.

She nods, mouth already full, and says, as good as she can: "Noted. Thanks for not setting my kitchen on fire again."

He just rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. When she has eaten up, he fills her plate again, against her protests. Gracie looks around while eating, thinking that she really could do the dishes again, when her glance falls on the clock. Oh. Yeah.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I actually had to go to uni today."

"No, you don't."

"But-"

"You had a shit day yesterday. You're not going to go to uni and stress yourself again." His faces then turns from very deciding to very unsure. "I, uhm. I kinda borrowed your phone? And texted your friend. Kate, right? She was very nice. Said that she'd inform you about everything. And ... some other interesting things."

Gracie is speechless once again. Her mouth might be hanging open in surprise. "You- you actually did that for me? All that- why?!"

His forehead wrinkles when he frowns. "You're my friend."

"Yeah, but- yeah. Okay? Wait, don't you have to be somewhere today?"

Harry seems relieved, and grabs an orange from the fruit basket, starting to peel it. "The best thing about my job is that I only have to work at night. Oh, and the groupies of course, they're actually the best thing." He winks so that Gracie knows he doesn't mean it like that. Or maybe he does. Who knows, this was Harry Styles after all.

Gracie finishes her pancakes and pushes the plate away. She feels pretty content.

"I still can't believe you did that for me", she says after a bit of silence. "Like- wow. You know? You really are too good for this world, Harry." And if she starts tearing up a little, that's okay, and it is actually justified, because Harry Styles may be the most amazing human ever and he is her friend.

Harry just shrugs and smiles satisfied. "Everything for my favourite neighbour. Now, what would you say if I may have broken one, or two, or maybe five of your cups?"

 

❄❄❄

 

In the afternoon, after Kate brought her the stuff she missed today and asked her about a billion questions about Harry, she sits at her desk, lost in thought and staring at the cactus she bought the other day that's now sitting on her window sill. It already wilted a bit. She still has no clue on how to do the plant thing. But she has an idea.

So she texts Harry:

_Today, 7 pm._

_Dinner, us two._

_I'll pick you up._

_Is this a date? ;)_

_A Friend Date._

_Dress sharp though._

_I LOVE friend dates._

_Normal dates, too._

_Actually, all dates are cool._

_Beside that one date I had once_.

_That was TERRIBLE._

_Dress sharp, huh?_

_Don't you worry, I'll put on my best clothes for you._

_You'll be surprised ;)_

 

At 7 pm sharp, he deliberately comes out wearing the ugliest shirt he possesses and the biggest smile on his face, that little shit.

She immediately makes him go back and change.

 

❄❄❄

 

The dinner is nice. She takes him to the best but still affordable restaurant she knows, the one that she only goes to with her family when they visit London. The food tastes good, as always, and she jokes around a lot and he smiles so much she can't feel her face sometimes and the waitress is eyeing him up but he doesn't really bother and she asks him to talk more about his music and kinda is in love with the way his face automatically lights up. It goes great and Gracie is more relaxed than she has been for a long time.

It's almost midnight when they leave, and Harry decides that they will walk back, because the stars are beautiful. She agrees. (Because Uber is expensive and she is kinda broke and he is probably even more kinda broke.) On the way back, Harry spots a McDonald's and goes _you know what i'm actually still hungry_ and she's like _how in the FUCK are you still- nevermind, come on i'll get you nuggets_ and he's absolutely delighted and keeps throwing fries at her face until she attacks him back with nugget dip sauce. They get kicked out, of course, but also get to keep the nuggets, so it's not that bad.

The two of them come home at about 1 am and actually have to be quiet, but he's giggling all the way up the stairs and she shushes him (because Mr. Simmons the bitter fuck is probably spying through the eye hole, even now) but then she has to laugh, too. When they part at their doors, he hugs her so tight she can hear at least two of her ribs crack, though that doesn't stop her from hugging back equally as tight.

After a short night, she lets herself into his apartment the next morning with the key under the doormat, and makes breakfast and doesn't burn it and they eat it and the cutlery is not matching and he peels an orange and sticks the slices into his mouth so that he resembles a walrus and she thinks that maybe- maybe she could get used to this.

 

❄❄❄

 

"I have an idea!", Harry shouts one day, fists banging on the table for emphasis. It's the first time in a while that Gracie has seen him, because he visited his family for a while and then he was away for another weekend to sing at a wedding in Dover. And while she really, really missed him, he is not exactly being quiet right now. She can already hear Mr. Simmons getting angry two floors below.

"It's a really good idea. Listen", he adds as if she didn't listen before, but since he looks more excited than he has for a long time, Gracie tries to look extra interested. Harry continues.

"You know that pub down the street? It's that really small one, looks proper scabby, but actually kinda cozy inside. The owner's name's Karl, I think he's from Europe or something, he has an accent, but I never really asked where he's from, maybe I should do that, don't you think? I'm sure he has a lot of interesting stories to tell. Anyways, he lets me sing there sometimes, even pays with real money, and he asked me if I'm free tonight." He wiggles his eyebrows in a promising way. "You wanna come? I'll ask the boys if they have time, so you can meet them and you can listen to me singing, and I'll probably play the guitar, too, if Karl wants me to. So? You'll come?"

"Uhm- yeah, of course", Gracie answers, a bit overwhelmed by the amount of words that came out of Harry's mouth in a matter of time. "I'd love to."

She is graced by the sight of Harry's dimples once again.

A few hours later, they're on the way to the pub and feels herself getting more excited and nervous with every passing minute, for obvious reasons. Harry on the other side is over the moon, almost jumping up and down next to her even though he carries his guitar on the back. For a split second, she wonders how it would be to hold his hand right now. Then, she pushes the thought away. Nonsense.

Harry was right, the pub really is scabby, but the atmosphere inside makes her relax immediately. It is smokey and smells of sweat and a lot of alcohol. The boy beside her seems to be totally in his element, greeting everyone personally, even if he doesn't know them, as he tells her later. When they finished their round through the low ceiling room, he thrusts a beer into her hand and leads her to one of the booths at the side. She hears laughter, before she can hear or even see anything else.

Harry's friends are loud, same as Harry, but not nearly as catastrophically dressed, which is a good sign, Gracie figures.

"Niall, Liam, Louis. They're assholes. This is Gracie. She can be an asshole, too."

She waves a bit awkwardly, but is then pulled into a big hug by the one with brunet hair which only has some blond left at the tips, and a million dollar smile that even beats Harry's. "I'm Niall and I'm from Ireland", he grins and she maybe kind of wants to pinch his cheeks. "You smell really good."

"Oi, stop hitting on her", a boy with slightly longer hair and a cigarette in his left hand interjects. "'M Louis, hi. You're going to sit next to me cause if I have to see Harold here have dry sex one more time with my own eyes I'm going to vomit. This is Liam", he gestures to the last of Harry's friends, who shots her a nice smile and then turns back to building a house out of beer mats. "You don't have to remember his name", Louis continues, "nobody ever does."

"Fuck you", Liam mumbles while still being deeply concentrated on his project.

Gracie is delighted.

Niall is irish and loud and energetic, Liam is nice and actually funny and tells her about that one time Harry pissed his pants, and Louis may be short and bony, with delicate wrists and clear blue eyes, but he's the biggest asshole of them all. He is simultaneously small and very, very powerful and in conclusion, everything Gracie aspires to be.

Harry doesn't say much, rather looks like he just enjoys listening to them for a while, but whenever Gracie catches his glance, he shoots her a big smile.

"So", Louis begins after some time and takes another drag from his cigarette, "how come I've never heard about you?"

"I have heard about her", Niall interrupts and Liam frowns: "Yeah, me too."

"That's because Louis has blocked my number", Harry pouts. "You never let me text you, Lou."

"If I need someone who texts me thousand emojis in the middle of the night, I'll unblock you again, love", Louis responds unfazed.

"She even was in Harry's weekly mails multiple times", Niall throws in helpfully.

Louis raises one eyebrow. "Spam file, then."

Harry crosses his arms and pouts even harder. It's adorable. "I hate you."

"Love you too, Harold", Louis says and then raises from his seat. "Me 'n Liam have to go now. I'm hooking him up with my girlfriend's best friend. It's a long story", he adds, turning to Gracie. "Poor girl, that Sophia."

"But I'm gonna sing later!", Harry objects.

"Sorry, love. Get Niall to record it, yeah? I promise we'll watch the whole thing later after Liam has been turned down." Louis pats Harry's head a few times who now seems satisfied, and ignores Liam flipping him off. The two boys disappear into the smoke after a last goodbye and Gracie reassuring Liam that his hair does indeed look good.

"Told you, they are assholes", Harry says after the last trace of Louis' voice disappears, though with a laugh.

"I love them", Gracie simply grins.

Niall claps his hands once. "Perfect. Now in case you get tired of Harry, you still have us!"

She refrains from telling him that this will probably never happen, and instead accepts Niall's complicated side hug, accidentally getting beer in her eye in the process.

They fool around a bit, finding out who can drink the most beer in ten seconds (Niall) and who can balance the most beer mats on his forehead (again, Niall). Gracie starts to feel warm and dizzy soon, but she can still think clearly, more or less, so it's okay. It's actually nice.

Then, Harry gets called up on stage.

He takes his guitar and makes his way through the crowd that has now gotten bigger, after a final wink to Gracie and a high five from Niall.

"Go get 'em, tiger!", Niall shouts and then turns back to her with a proud look on his face. "I taught him how to play the guitar, you know? Still can't believe that he had the balls to actually go for the music thing, though." He stands up and takes her hand, gesturing her to follow. "Come on, we'll see if we can get to the front."

The stage is tiny, actually nothing more than a small pedestal at the back of the pub, equipped only with a drum set, a micro stand and a chair. When Harry walks up and sits down, everyone cheers and yells. It's clearly not the first time he has played here.

Gracie can't tear her eyes away from him. He shows his biggest smile, joyful and wide, his dimples more prominent than ever carved into his cheeks. When he leans down to adjust the mic, his black satin shirt reveals part of his pecs and the people scream. (Niall next to her whistles through his fingers.) Gracie can't really blame them, and just watches Harry chuckle lightly.

"Uhm, hey", he begins, voice deep and slow as always. "Thanks for having me. I'm Harry and I'm gonna play a few songs for you tonight." More cheers. Niall gets out his phone to start recording. "I hope you enjoy, this is Perfect by Ed Sheeran."

Gracie expected him to be good, of course, she heard him enough times to know he was good, but she didn't expect him to look like ... this. Because see, Harry was loud and energetic and couldn't keep his feet still most of the time, always had to do something, to say something, to be something. He was the epitome of life, the human version of the kind of reckless flowers that dare to bloom even in winter.

Seeing Harry sing was a different thing. His energy shifted into something passive but equally powerful, he appeared almost in trance, eyes closed and lips close to the mic while forming raspy words. His eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, skin almost glowing in all the dull light and smoke, Harry works his way slowly but surely into every pair of ears in the room. He's life, all the time, but when he sings, Harry reminds her more of love than anything else.

After Ed Sheeran, it's Coldplay, and then Oasis, and she wants to glue him to the chair so he will never stop singing ever. In that moment, Gracie is fully and completely in love with him. She loves the way his hair keeps falling into his eyes, and the way the satin hugs his torso, slowly and pitch black against his skin, and the way his smile is wide and electric when the crowd sings Free Fallin' back at him, and the way he giggles when Niall shouts "LET ME HAVE YOUR BABY, HAROLD". She loves the way she doesn't know what he thinks when he looks at her again and again, but he is smiling every time, and she desperately wants to find out.

When the last notes of Youth fade away half an hour later, everything is dead silent for a moment, and then it's all loud and screams.

"Thank you, thanks a lot for having me. And remember, spread love!" With a last smile and wave out to the people, Harry leaves the stage. Gracie turns to Niall, mouth gaping open, tears still in the corner of her eyes, and he nods knowingly. "Let's go see him."

They find Harry talking to an older man, who must be Karl, judging by the apron and the accent. When Niall shouts "Oi, Harold!", he turns around and his face lights up even more. He says goodbye to Karl and comes over, steps light and bouncy though he looks pretty exhausted.

"Well done, mate, as always", Niall claps his shoulder and then motions to the bar. "Gonna send the video to Lou now, the WiFi is better over there." He winks at Gracie knowingly.

"And?", Harry beams at her, "did you like it?"

"Are you fucking serious?", she says as soon as she can form real words again. "You were incredible, I fucking loved it!"

"Loved it, hm?" The look on his face is smug and pretty pleased. "Anything else you loved? I saw you staring quite a lot." He winks and in any other situation, she totally would have hit him, but his forehead is slightly glistening with sweat and his eyes are glassy and big and when he bites his lip, it comes away pretty and pink.

"You're beautiful when you sing." Gracie reaches up to push the messy strands of hair away from his forehead, slowly, and it's so soft that she has to swallow hard. He closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering. "I-"

"Guys!", Niall makes his way through the crowd ignorantly, making them jump apart as if they had been electrocuted. Gracie's hand feels like that, too, hot and tingling. She doesn't dare to look at Harry.

"Louis just send me a video of Liam getting dumped by Sophia, we have to watch that now!"

 

❄❄❄

 

After that evening at the pub, Harry is avoiding her.

It's not too obvious, because he still texts her jokes and comes over from time to time, but it gets less and less and by the beginning of December, it had been nine days since she last heard of him.

That changes though, when he knocks on her door once again, in an unsteady rhythm, and the second she opens it, he knows that he is drunk, and though he's not as drunk as the first time they met three months ago, it's enough to make his eyes glassy and force him to lean against the doorframe.

"You ignored me", Gracie states and crosses her arms.

Harry stares at her for a few seconds, finally nods. "I know. Can I come in?"

She considers saying no, just for the sake of it, but then she realizes that it would be pretty childish, so she lets him come in. Harry doesn't even sit down, but stands in front of her, hands now hanging down at his sides. The unusual big sweater hangs loosely from his shoulders and as she looks at him closer, she sees that his eyes are puffy and red.

"Are you okay?", Gracie asks worriedly, because he definitely doesn't look like it, and-

"No. Yeah. I don't know. I have to tell you something."

She nods, now absolutely anxious, and he takes a deep breath. His face is awfully twisted for a moment.

"I love you", he blurts out, "I think I am in love with you and I'm terrified, it's terrifying me, because that doesn't happen, stuff like that doesn't happen to me. I love people, but I am never _in love_ with them, and you're so different and I want to be with you all the time, I want to learn everything about you and want to love every single detail, I- I can't stop thinking about you and your smile and your eyes and everything about you, and it's making me go insane, I feel like I'm actually losing my mind. You hear me? You make me go insane, and I can't do anything about it. I wrote a song about you to make it go away, but it didn't, and then I wrote another one, and another one but it didn't fucking help and-"

"Wait", Gracie interrupts and tries to push down all the butterflies she has in her stomach, because this is... "You wrote a song about m-me, and that's supposed to stop you from being in ... in love with me?" The words feel strange and unfamiliar in her mouth, but Harry just frowns.

"Well it always helped before when I thought I had a crush on someone, that's the first time it didn't work."

"So ... you wrote a song about every single one of your crushes? Who are you, Taylor Swift?"

"For your information, Taylor Swift is-", he starts but can't finish because Gracie rolls her eyes and sighs and then pulls him down by his collar to kiss him.

Harry reacts quickly, his hands darting forward to frame her face and she can feel his warmth, can smell him, feels the short hairs at the back of his neck. Her heartbeats rises extremely fast.

Harry's lips are softer than she had thought and make her whole body feel like it's on fire. When he sighs against her mouth, a heaven-like sound, she practically melts in his arms, grabbing his biceps to hold herself up. Everything about Harry is electric, his eyes, his lips and every single one of his touches as his hands wander up and down her sides, and it's the only thing she wants to feel for the rest of her life. He is love. He is love and love and love and Gracie wants him to know this so desperately.

She doesn't know how much time has passed until they part, but she also definitely doesn't care, because his face is flushed, his eyes sparkle and he's so pretty she might die right here on the spot. Harry slowly opens his eyes. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged", he whispers and she is absolutely done with him but whispers back dutifully, with a laugh: "Then have my lips the sin they have took", and watches Harry's face light up: "Sin from thy lips?" He presses a light kiss to her forehead, to her cheek, then to her nose and makes her giggle. "O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."

She tries to look like she is annoyed with him, definitely tries to, but probably doesn't succeed, judging by his continuing giggles, and when she mumbles "You kiss by the book", before pulling him in again, it's really nobody's business, because hey, it makes him smile and that's it, really, isn't it? That she would do anything to make him smile, even if it's quoting Romeo and Juliet like some delusional idiot.

About an hour later, laying on the sofa tangled up, with tired limbs and lips sore from kissing which doesn't keep them from more kissing, Gracie thinks that if she _does_ die right here and there, it wouldn't be so bad; to have Harry's touch being the last thing she feels, forever.

She falls asleep with her head on his arm, lulled to sleep by the faint, but steady feeling of his heartbeat under her palm. They're together, they're alive and they're in love.

 

❄❄❄

 

It ends like this: "Those things you said yesterday. Did you mean them?", is what Gracie asks him the next day after a brief breakfast, slowly and cautiously. He can understand, in a way, so he doesn't feel insulted; after all, he was drunk. But Harry's head still hurts and his knees still buckle whenever he thinks back to last night, so he simply but truly answers: "I've never been so serious about anything in my life", and if his heart misses a beat when he sees the absolute delight on her face, then so be it. ("I love you too", says Gracie, two days later and finally, and he has to close his eyes so he can preserve that moment, forever.)

When she draws back after their kiss and goes _it's a good thing we're together now cause you still have to pay for my burnt kitchen_ and he goes _oh we're together now? and you just decided that, on your own?_ and she says _yes indeed i did,_ he wants to kiss her stupid. So he does. It's a normal day, all things considered.

So, yeah. It ends like this, except that it actually doesn't; because this is not the end, but only the start, really.

 

 

 


End file.
